Tuesday, December 7

At last


The past two weeks have been stormy. Dreary. I'm a big fan of rain and sleepy dampness, but I need my sunshine. I should have chlorophylls, need to digest this gnawing feeling of uncertainty.

My mind's all over the place. Splattered on walls, bubblegum sticky on things I shouldn't bother with, like avenging grandmothers from the grave and Christmas messages.

Got my first, gift-wrapped, Christmas present. From Central Escolar University.

If Deanna Troi ever visited the library.
Troi: Captain. I sense. So much anger.
Picard: Yes, yes. I get that from the books. Flying. Warp 2. For a pre-warp civilization, that's quite a feat.
Troi: So much hatred.
Picard: Is that a 20th century butter knife sticking out of that faggy man's back?
Troi: Discontent! Pain! Betrayal!
Picard: Recommendation Number One.
Riker: Can I borrow that butter knife?

Troi: Oh. Will.

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